


The Fifth Man

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3953191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Knight's Code is about loyalty and honour.  It is about serving the king and being willing to lay down one's life for him.</p><p>Unless one is a sorcerer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Merlin never knew that patrols could actually be _relaxing._

If he didn’t know better, he would have thought Arthur did it on purpose, spritzing on a special enemy-attracting scent the way ladies at the court drowned themselves in flowery perfumes. It was amazing to realize that when one left the castle, it didn’t have to be an inevitability that one would be attacked.

Of course, he hadn’t been too keen on the idea when they first left the castle. Gaius had asked Merlin to go and gather some herbs he was running low on, a task that normally he would spend an hour or so on and then return home. But when he had asked Arthur for permission to take the morning off to do so, the king had absolutely refused.

_“There are reports of bandits in the woods, Merlin.”_

_“There are **always** reports of bandits in the woods. I’d be more worried if reports said there were **no** bandits in the woods.”_

_“You are not going on your own, and that’s final.”_

Which of course was when Gwaine had stepped in and offered to take Merlin with him and the other knights on their patrol. This normally would have been perfectly fine, except they were taking a tour of the southern borders and expected to be gone for three days at minimum. That was a long time to be away from Arthur, who could manage to put himself at high risk of being killed by assassins every time he stepped out of his chambers, and sometimes even when he didn’t.

But Gaius desperately needed the herbs, and there was no other way he was going to get them, so in the end, Merlin agreed.

Two full days past and no “funny feelings” by way of Camelot, and Merlin was actually starting to enjoy himself. Perhaps it was even good for him and Arthur to have a few days apart now and then. Merlin loved Arthur with all his heart, but spending every waking –and often sleeping- moment together could take its toll on anyone.

Merlin laughed along with the others as Elyan and Leon finished telling a tale from Gwen’s childhood. That had been a surprise, hearing always proper Leon joke about the queen, the same man who wouldn’t call Arthur _Arthur_ , even when it was just them out in the middle of the woods. It turned out Leon had been the one to recommend Gwen for the job serving Lady Morgana in the first place. And now Merlin was beginning to highly suspect that there was something more going on between them than just being childhood friends. Perhaps when they got back he’d make a suggestion to Arthur about having a chat with Leon and letting his first knight know it was perfectly alright to follow his feelings, so long as they were discreet.

_They might even have that little blond heir Arthur’s always wanted!_

Looking back, the only excuse he could give for why he hadn’t been better prepared was that he was distracted by thoughts of Arthur being all paternal with a dozen little Merlin/Arthur hybrid babies. Which was an adorable thought, but not at all helpful when the mercenaries began to swarm them from all sides.

The knights leapt from their horses and engaged their attackers head on, slashing and parrying in an attempt to pick them off. Merlin used their distraction to blast away the next wave of the onslaught, limiting their numbers to the ones already in the area. He scooped up an abandoned sword and made use of the skills he’d picked up from Arthur over the years. He wasn’t anywhere near as good as the king, and had he been alone, he would have been nearly instantly overwhelmed, but then, if he’d been alone, he could have cast more than just a tripping charm here and there.

He managed to defeat his opponent and the next one that took his place, but eventually his arms, not used to wielding a weapon for so long (Arthur usually had him on the ground several times by now), gave out, and he knew he needed to stick to magic for now. Merlin attempted to scramble out of the way, meaning to find a safe nook to cast a few spells from, but suddenly he found himself being thrust against a tree, an arm against his throat.

Merlin scrabbled uselessly against the arm, trying to suck in what little air he could as his windpipe was crushed. The bandit smirked at his struggles, pressing tighter. All he needed was just a little give, the tiniest breath to whisper a spell…

His hands found the mercenary’s fingers, and he gripped the smallest one, bending it backward with all his remaining strength. The man howled and released him, swinging out his fist. Merlin ducked and rolled, then thrust out a hand to blast the man away from him. The mercenary’s head collided with a tree, and he slumped to the ground.

Merlin took in the rest of the battle. It wasn’t going well. Elyan clutched his side even as he continued to fight three opponents alongside Gwaine. Percival had been backed against a tree, though he still seemed to be holding his own, and Leon wasn’t anywhere to be found. Merlin needed to end this, and soon.

Searching his mind for the most effective spell, Merlin made sure he was out of sight of the fighters and then crouched to the ground. First he put up wards around the knights. He didn’t want to risk them being hurt, and the spell he’d picked could get a bit messy when done so quickly like this. Then he growled a few words and smacked the ground with his palm.

Immediately the world started to shake. The mercenaries broke off their attack in shock, backing away and looking around as if they could find the cause and stop it (which they actually could if they’d looked hard enough). As the earth tossed itself harder beneath their feet the attackers stumbled back, abandoning their fight to get to steadier ground. One more spell, and everything went back to normal.

Or so he’d hoped.

“What _was_ that?” Elyan demanded shakily from where he clutched desperately to a tree.

“I dunno, but I’ll be saying my prayers to good ol’ Mother Nature tonight.” Gwaine shook his shaggy hair, now damp with sweat, from his face. He wrapped an arm around Elyan’s waist to hold him up.

Percival looked uneasy as he stared at the isolated patch of earth that gone still as if nothing had ever happened. “You don’t think that was a bit strange?”

“You spend enough time around Camelot, you start to harden yourself to all sorts of strange, unexplainable things. Now, where is everyone else? Leon? Merlin? Are you alright?”

“Merlin is right here,” came the voice directly behind him, cold and steady. “And I don’t think that was as unexplainable as you think, Gwaine.”

Merlin made to turn around to face Leon, but before he could, he found himself being grabbed by the neckerchief and dragged into the clearing. Leon gave him a shove, and he sprawled to the ground. The others gaped as Leon drew his sword and pointed it at Merlin’s neck.

“Leon! What the hell are you doing, mate?”

“That is the question I mean to ask _him_ ,” Leon glared down at Merlin, and he forced himself to meet the knight’s eyes simply for fear of looking away. His heart drummed rapidly in his chest. This couldn’t be happening. These were his _friends_. They were- “ _Sorcerer._ ”

“Merlin?” Gwaine laughed, though the sound was too hollow to be entirely disbelieving. “Merlin wouldn’t dabble in sorcery if his life depended on it. He couldn’t!”

“I heard him. I _saw_ him. He was the one who started that earthquake. What was the plan, sorcerer? Did you mean to kill off the king’s men where no one would be the wiser? Blame an attack by outsiders? You could go back to Camelot and tell everyone you were just another victim, that you couldn’t do anything to stop it. No one would suspect a thing.”

“No, Leon, please!” Merlin begged, his voice hoarse from his crushed throat. Percival’s sword point had come up to face him now as well, and Gwaine had pulled the sagging Elyan an automatic step back. It hurt more than any lingering pain from the battle. “You know it’s not- I was just trying to help; I swear I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt any of you, and especially not Arthur!”

“What good is the word of a sorcerer? How can we believe anything you say?”

“Because you _know_ me!” Merlin insisted. “I never wanted to lie to you. But Uther would have killed me if he found out, and Arthur…”

Oh gods, Arthur. They were going to take him back, and Arthur was going to have to kill him. He would have no choice. And killing Merlin would kill Arthur, and Merlin could not be responsible for that.

Merlin lowered his head, baring his neck. “Could you do it here, please?” he murmured.

“Do what?”

“The whole…” he swallowed thickly, wincing at the jolt of his swollen throat. “My execution. Please don’t make Arthur do it. I promise I won’t fight you if you just do it here, but please don’t make him kill me.”

Leon visibly hesitated. He knew, he had to know. Arthur thought he was the master of secrecy, but all of Camelot was aware that these days his servant served him more in his bed than by folding his socks. Leon was a loyal, noble man. He couldn’t do this to his king.

“Enough! No one is killing Merlin!” Finally Gwaine seemed to have gotten over whatever it was that was holding him silent. “This is ridiculous. I don’t care what you saw, this is _Merlin_. Merlin isn’t _evil_.”

“But he broke the law,” Percival pointed out softly. “We can’t just let that go.”

The swords didn’t lower, but the faces of the men holding them were looking more and more uncertain. Leon let out a frustrated growl. “Percival, get the rope from Elyan’s bag. Bind his wrists and secure him to that tree over there.”

“I won’t run-”

“ _Silence._ Percival, now.”

Merlin let him do it, not daring to bring up that if he had actually wanted to, he could easily magic himself free without a word. He was afraid if he did, Leon might just choose to knock him out. To his credit, Percival did look upset as he bound him, and his actions were much gentler than they might have been.

The knights took themselves away and out of earshot to huddle and discuss what do to with him. Merlin fought the tight knot in his stomach, praying he wouldn’t be sick through his bruised throat. He’d never imagined it happening this way. He’d always thought if anyone was going to find out about his magic, it would be Arthur. He’d _wanted_ Arthur to know. He’d been terrified at the thought of him finding out, yes, but deep down, Merlin knew Arthur was meant to know all of him.

But the knights were wildcards. They were his friends, yes, but their friendship was second to their loyalty to the king. The only possible exception was Gwaine, who’d always told Merlin he was the only reason the rogue had stayed in Camelot as long as he had. But Merlin had betrayed him too, lying to all of them for years.

He had felt their swords at his back before. Back when he’d disguised himself as Dragoon and was sneaking through the forest towards Morgana’s, they’d caught him then. They would have killed him, too, had he not defended himself with magic. But they hadn’t even been after him because of sorcery then, not really. They’d wanted to arrest him for killing Uther, no matter how he’d done it.

They hadn’t asked him yet if he’d committed any crimes other than simply being a sorcerer. Merlin wasn’t sure if he was grateful or not. If they did, he’d have to admit to far greater crimes than even Leon was probably imagining of him.

Gwaine at least looked to be arguing in his favour. Elyan had had to be lowered to the ground after he passed out, though his wound had at least been tended to. _That must be why Gwaine didn’t speak up sooner,_ Merlin realized with mild relief. He should offer to heal Elyan, as a gesture of goodwill. But then, Leon probably wouldn’t let him near if he truly thought Merlin wanted to kill them. That left Percival. Merlin didn’t know which way the soft spoken man would vote, but he knew better than to get his hopes up.

Merlin wished he could write a farewell to his mother first.

He’d already written one to Arthur. He would probably never get it now. Probably wouldn’t want it.

The knights came back over. Elyan was heaved over his horse. Percival came and untied Merlin, taking the rope to lash the unconscious man down. Leon drew his sword again.

“Merlin of Ealdor. In the stead of Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot, I hereby banish you from this kingdom. You will leave Camelot and never return, on pain of death.”

Merlin rocked on his knees, stunned. “…Banished?”

Leon used his sword to slice Merlin’s neckerchief from his throat, then smeared it across the servant’s arm. It quickly soaked with blood. He hadn’t even registered he’d been injured. Maybe that was why he felt so cold.

“We will tell the king you were felled in battle. Your body was lost to the river. It will be an honourable death you do not deserve, but the king does not deserve to be plagued by your treachery.”

Leon turned and stalked over his horse, mounting swiftly and trotting off. Percival gave Merlin a mournful look before doing the same, grabbing Elyan’s mare’s lead to take him along. Gwaine didn’t follow.

“I’m sorry, mate. I tried, really I did.”

“I believe you,” Merlin said absently, still in a state of shock.

“Here, let me bind up that arm for you before you go.” He made to rip a strip of fabric from his tunic, but Merlin reached out and stopped him.

“Don’t. It’s… I deserve it. I’ll just… I’ll go now.” Merlin staggered to his feet. He wasn’t even sure which direction Camelot was in from here. Probably the way the knights were heading. He’d have to go the other way then. Where would that lead to? Probably not Ealdor. Definitely not to Arthur. “Please, Gwaine, tell Arthur… tell Arthur…”

Gwaine swept him up in a hug. Tears pricked Merlin’s eyes, but he didn’t dare let them fall. “I will, mate. I promise.” Then he held him back at arm’s length. “Look, Leon will have my hide for this, but I want you to write me, soon as you get settled elsewhere. Go to Mithian, down in Nemeth. She’ll take you in and treat you kindly. Magic’s legal there, though it’s not something they broadcast. You’ll be safe.”

Safe. Merlin didn’t care about being safe. If that was what had mattered, he would have left Camelot ages ago. It was about keeping _Arthur_ safe. He would have rather Leon beheaded him right here than live the rest of his life knowing Arthur was out there somewhere, maybe in danger, and being unable to do anything about it. Unable to see him, to talk to him, to touch him.

“I have to go now, Merlin. Go to Mithian, okay?” Gwaine repeated, worry etched in every line of his face. Merlin didn’t blame him. He probably wasn’t looking very reassuring himself right now, not with his entire world crashing in around him.

“Okay.” Merlin turned, and walked blindly away. It might have been towards Nemeth or towards the edge of a cliff. At that point, he didn’t much care.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur was ready to scream. This was the _last_ time he allowed Merlin to take extended time away from the castle. What kind of head injury must he have incurred to think it was a good idea to send his servant away for three days? At first it had been fine. Arthur had taken all of Guinevere’s teasing with good cheer as he scattered clothes about his room, trained without _someone_ nagging him about missing lunch, and finished twice as much paperwork without Merlin’s incessant chattering interruptions.

But then came the first night without his warm presence in his bed. Arthur had tossed and turned and ended up awkwardly hugging his pillow with all of his blankets shoved into a pile at the foot of his bed. The pillow was a poor substitute for lean muscles and wispy soft hair, and sleeping without blankets wasn’t half as comfortable when there wasn’t another body –who was usually the one wrapped in all of those blankets- to leech heat from.

To make matters worse, when he woke up the next morning, it wasn’t to a gentle kiss on the forehead or a cold nose buried in his chest. It was to the unfailingly polite queries of the bane of his royal life, George, wanting to know if sire would like bacon or ham to break his fast with this morning.

George pestered him the rest of the day, following him about like a lost puppy. A very well-trained puppy, who anticipated his owner’s needs before he needed them. It was infuriating.

Guinevere just giggled when he finally snapped at George during their evening meal. “Isn’t there _anything_ _else_ you could be doing right now? I don’t care what you have to put your efforts to –polishing, sharpening, _whatever._ Just _go._ ”

“I know you miss Merlin,” she chided as George –politely– fled through the doors, “but you could try to be a bit nicer. He’s just trying to do his job.”

“I don’t _not_ miss _Merlin_ ,” Arthur protested. Guinevere gave him a knowing smile. “Don’t give me that look; it’s true. And I would have been just fine without a servant until he- wait a second… _You_ sent George to me, didn’t you!”

Guinevere laughed outright. “I may have let slip to the steward that you were in need of a substitute for a few days.”

“You are an evil, evil woman.”

“Just making sure you appreciate what you have.”

Arthur did. Of course he did. Maybe he wasn’t the best at saying it (at least with words; he was sure he had _more_ than expressed his feelings with his body) but he _did_ appreciate Merlin, and Merlin knew that. Certainly Merlin got annoyed with him a time or too when Arthur became forgetful and snappish and treated him with the same disregard he might have back when Merlin first came to Camelot, but Arthur had gotten much better at properly addressing him so that it was clear he saw Merlin as secret lover first and employed servant second.

Merlin didn’t even have nearly as many chores these days. The stables and horses were cared for by the stable hands (as they had always been meant to), the laundresses handled Arthur’s clothes (as they had always been meant to), and usually Arthur took care not to mess his room up all on his own (he didn’t actually like living in filth, much as he pretended he did). The only chores Merlin still carried on with were ones he insisted be done by himself. Things like tending to his weapons and armour (Merlin had _fumed_ when Arthur suggested one of the squires take over that job) or dressing and undressing the king (neither of them had brought up changing that one). Merlin spent the rest of his time helping Gaius or simply keeping himself busy nearby while Arthur worked at his desk.

Merlin had complained at first about the suddenly expanse of free time, fretting that Arthur didn’t need him anymore. When he snapped at the poor girl who came to clean the fireplace, Arthur finally had to step in.

_“Merlin, I am **not** trying to replace you. I’m… do you know what your title would be, what it **will be** , when I can make it so? King’s consort. Do you know what consorts do? Usually nothing but please their king. You shouldn’t have to be doing all this servant work.”_

_“But I **want** to be your servant.”_

No argument Arthur came up with could persuade him otherwise, so Merlin had stayed at his post, and all talk of declaring him consort had been put by the wayside.

“I appreciate him,” he assured Guinevere. “And if it makes you feel better, I will even tell him I missed him when he returns.”

“Good.” She smiled wickedly. “And until then, you can appreciate George.”

Arthur found himself pacing back and forth in front of his window by then end of the third day. George had been dismissed, finally for good, in anticipation for Merlin’s return. A sealed note had gone with him to the steward requesting that should Arthur need a substitute servant again, he would choose one for himself next time.

Guinevere’s laughter chased him down the corridors as he –in a very dignified kingly manner- went to the courtyard to meet the incoming party. The first sight he caught he stepped outside was Elyan slung across his horse, Percival and Gwaine carefully helping him down. Leon was talking to a stable hand as he handed over his reins. They all looked the worse for wear.

Arthur scanned the group. He didn’t see the one person he needed. There was an extra horse.

Percival and Gwaine refused to look him in the eye as they passed by, carrying Elyan into the castle, probably taking him to see Gaius. Leon left the stable hand and walked over to Arthur.

“Sire, is there somewhere I could give you my report in private?”

“Where is he?” he demanded.

“Please, sire. Not here.”

Arthur dragged Leon inside, shoving him in the first empty room he spotted and slamming the door. Leon flinched. “ _Where. Is. He?”_

Leon reached into the pouch on his belt and pulled out a scrap of cloth. Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. He would know that cloth anywhere. It was his favourite thing to pull off, revealing the pale expanse of skin under it. Or sometimes Arthur would leave just that, stripping him bare and using the neckerchief as a blindfold, or a gag, or to bind his wrists. Sometimes it would stay on his neck, and Arthur would lie there and breathe in the scent of him.

It had never looked like this, the faded red now so vivid and dark, wet not with lusty sweat or seed but the one thing Arthur never, _ever_ wanted to associate with it.

He couldn’t say anything, not to deny the sight of it or to ask how it had come about.

“We ran into a band of outlaws. I don’t know if they were sent by someone or if it was just a random attack. They got Elyan in the side. We tended him best we could, but he’ll be out of commission for a while.”

Arthur waited. It was coming. This was all just stalling, putting off the moment he knew had to come. He hoped Leon would wax philosophic about Elyan’s wound forever.

“Merlin got separated from us. We tried to fight our way to him, but… It was a clean cut, sire. He felt no pain.”

His head was spinning. He needed to sit before he fell. Had he already fallen?

“Where is he?” he repeated dully, the only thing his mouth seemed able to articulate.

“He was fighting by a riverbank. The blow knocked him in. By the time we got there, he’d been washed away by the current.” Leon bowed his head. “I’m sorry, sire. I know he was dear to you.”

Leon pressed the cloth into his hand and left, closing the door gently.

Arthur’s knees hit the ground (oh, so he had still been standing), and no amount of stone was thick enough to block out the sound of his sorrow.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“We will be eternally grateful for this, sire. Helmsworth is a small village, but if you ever call on us for anything, we will answer however we can.”

“If you have any further trouble with the wolves, send to Camelot and the knights will return to help you,” Arthur answered. He nodded in acknowledgement of the headwoman’s bow and turned to mount his horse.

The knights followed him out of the village in silence. Everything they did was in silence these days. The trip out to Helmsworth. Hunting the large wolf that had attacked the local children. Feasting with the townspeople in celebration. Gatherings at the Round Table had never gone so quickly before, no one speaking unless spoken to and then no more than necessary.

Arthur was grateful for the quiet. He hadn’t asked for it, but if any of them had dared to speak to him, especially in the days immediately following… he might have snapped and ordered all of them to their deaths. He had considered it, been a breath away from doing it, until Gaius had given him something to put himself to sleep.

They arrived back at Camelot by midday. Guinevere met them in the courtyard with a strained smile. She greeted Arthur with a kiss on the cheek and drew him gently inside by the elbow before anyone could stop him with a petition.

“Well, the castle’s still standing. I’d say I held things together quite well in your absence.”

Arthur knew she was trying to keep things light, but he couldn’t help but sigh. “You’ve been holding them together when I’m here as well. Thank you.”

Guinevere tightened her grip comfortingly on his arm. “It’s only been three months, Arthur. No one’s expecting things to go back to normal right away. I’d take on more if you’d let me.”

“I- I need to _do_ something.” Arthur knew there was a pleading note to his voice, as if she could tell him exactly what to do to fix things.

“I understand,” she smiled sadly. “I’ve a meeting with the steward this afternoon if you need me. You should stop in to see Gaius.”

“I’m fine, Guinevere, really.”

“I meant for him. I try to visit him every day, but I’m afraid he’s too alone, so isolated over in his chambers across the castle. I’ve been trying to convince him to move into quarters closer to us. Maybe you could mention it to him.”

“If I have time.”

Arthur had been avoiding Gaius, if he was entirely honest with himself. Unlike his knights, Gaius wanted to do nothing _but_ talk to Arthur. Perhaps it was because he was an old man, but the physician had a propensity for reminiscing, coming up with a new story every time they were together. The day Merlin was born. Merlin’s first day in Camelot. Forcing Merlin to sample all of his brews in punishment for tripping and shattering his entire stock of fever tonics.

Worst of all, Gaius would always _look_ at Arthur with that half-pitying, half-accusing gaze. He knew Gaius didn’t blame him for what happened, but… he also knew there was a part of both of them that couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different if Arthur had been at Merlin’s side.

Guinevere’s brow furrowed. “You’re the king. You can make the time.”

Arthur didn’t. Instead he hid himself away in his own chambers and poured over reports. There was plenty of pressing business that deserved his attention. There was a drought in a few of the northern towns. A rash of bandits had cropped up by the border with Escetia. The cobblestones needed to be repaired in the back courtyard.

He busied himself with writing orders for the various knights and servants who would deal with these matters directly. Arthur could hear the echoes of nagging in the back of his head as he pressed his stamp into each piece of parchment. He never used to give written orders. He believed in going to the source, making sure his instructions were understood exactly. The last time he had tried it was for a particularly odious seamstress. Unfortunately, he’d made the mistake of asking Merlin to carry the message for him.

_“You want me to traipse halfway across the castle to deliver a request for cotton?”_

_“Lord Berro is allergic to silk. As a nod to me remembering this fact, I wish to give him a cotton handkerchief with Camelot’s mark on it.”_

_Merlin snorted. “Ignoring how terrible a gift that is, you seriously expect me to bring this to Marjorie like some kind of royal proclamation? Why don’t you just go ask her?”_

_“Because I don’t have time to ‘traipse halfway across the castle,’ as you so aptly put it. I’m the king of Camelot, Merlin. I’m very busy.” Arthur gestured petulantly at the –much diminished- pile of papers on his desk._

_“Not too busy to talk to your knights,” Merlin pressed. “Or to make sure your horse is being coddled like a spoiled prince. Why is Marjorie so unimportant as to only rate a measly note?”_

He shook his head sharply to clear the memory. Suffice it to say these days Arthur would do anything to avoid the unnecessary face time with his subjects. Even if it meant offending those who thought a written order was less valuable than a verbal one.

As he finished sealing the last scroll, the door to his chambers opened and someone slipped inside. The servant jumped to see Arthur at his desk.

“I-I’m sorry, sire,” the boy stammered. “I’ll come back later.”

“Wait.”

Arthur ignored how the boy’s face fell as he was stopped from escaping. Merlin’s remaining duties had been taken up by a rota of servants, the same one never appearing twice. The first time someone had tried to take his sword for polishing Arthur had exploded and sacked the man. Guinevere had talked him down since then, but he had earned a reputation that had yet to go away.

“I need you to take these missives. There’s one for Cook, two for the steward, one for Sir Percival and one for Sir Leon.”

The boy bowed awkwardly and took the scrolls. “I’m sorry, sire, but it may be some time before I can deliver the last two.”

Arthur tempered the agitation in his voice as best he could. “Why is that?”

“Because I’m not allowed in the tavern?”

The boy flinched when Arthur stiffened. “And why, in the middle of the afternoon, are Sir Leon and Sir Percival in the tavern?”

“Because they were called to come fetch Sir Gwaine?”

With a growl of frustration, Arthur stormed from the room. He may not have been speaking with his knights, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of the way they were spending their time. Gwaine had been a frequent visitor to The Rising Sun, even more than usual, since Merlin’s death. This wasn’t the first time one or more of the other knights had had to drag him out at the proprietor’s request. This was, however, the earliest. The sun was still high in the sky and the evening meal had not yet been served.

Arthur waited for his knights just outside Gaius’s quarters. He knew they would bring Gwaine this way for a hangover treatment and so the physician could make sure he didn’t swallow his tongue in his sleep. The crashing sounds of stumbling and grumbled arguments soon reached his ears. Arthur glared as the three rounded the corner. Gwaine hung limply between his larger and far more sober friends.

“Sire-” Leon began.

Arthur cut him off with a raised hand. “I don’t want to hear it. That is I do, but I want to hear it from him. I daresay he’s not up to explaining anything to me right now, is he?”

“He’s been having a hard time of it lately,” Percival shrugged, not quite meeting Arthur’s eyes. “It will get better.”

“It had better. Don’t think I didn’t notice how hungover he was when we left for Helmsworth, not to mention the amount he drank at the feast that night. I will not tolerate an alcoholic knight. And I will make that clear to him when he reports to me first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sire,” they murmured with a bow of their heads.

Arthur stepped aside so they could drag Gwaine into Gaius’s quarters. He tried to walk quickly, hoping to escape the notice of the man within, but a voice called after him, “Sire, could I have a moment?”

 _Damn_. Arthur sighed heavily, but he couldn’t deny the old man when he was right in front of him. “Of course, Gaius.”

He thought it was accurate to say Leon and Percival fled the room once they had arranged Gwaine on the cot. _Cowards_ , he grumbled to himself. Not that this would have been easier with them around, but at least he might have been able to distract the conversation away from the one person Arthur did _not_ wish to talk about.

Gaius took his time, helping Gwaine to drink a tonic for his future headache and a full cup of water. Then he filled another cup and set it on the low bench beside the knight so he might reach it as he wished. Finally Gaius took a seat at his table, gesturing for Arthur to sit across from him.

“I never realized how large this castle is. I feel as if I haven’t seen you in days.”

Arthur avoided his eyes. “We’ve been gone out to one of the villages. They’d been having wolf problems.”

“Yes, I heard. But that was only a day and a half, and I’m sure I haven’t laid eyes on you for at least five.”

“I’ve been busy. As have you, I’m sure.”

“Indeed.” Silence fell between them, but Arthur could tell Gaius had more on his mind to say. “Arthur, I’d like to bring Hunith here to stay with me.”

Immediately Arthur’s first instinct was to shout _NO!_ at the top of his lungs. He quickly clamped his mouth shut, clenching his teeth to keep the sound in. Number two on his list of things he didn’t want to think about was Merlin’s mother. He had gone to tell Hunith two days after he had received the news. She had broken down in front of him and sobbed for what felt like years, clinging desperately to the man who had loved her son just as dearly as she had. Arthur had stayed with her for a week until she had felt up to taking care of herself again.

He had offered to move her to Camelot then. It was strangely easier in those first few days. It hadn’t hurt so horribly to look at her and see those familiar features attached to the wrong face. But now, now Arthur was afraid he might break down himself if he had to see her again.

He was starting to understand how his father had felt.

“She told me she wanted to stay where she was familiar.”

Gaius shrugged, though he raised an eyebrow as if he could read Arthur’s dark thoughts. “She’s written to say she changed her mind. She says the house feels so much bigger knowing he’ll never return to it. I understand how she feels.”

Arthur understood too. His bed had never felt so large, so empty. Most nights he had to sleep in the chair by the fire- that was when he slept at all.

“I think it would be good for both of us. I’m getting older. Merlin was meant to be my apprentice, perhaps take over for me in time, but now… Hunith knows a good deal about the art of healing already. She can help me, and we can provide each other company.”

How could Arthur say no to that? He still wanted to, possibly even more than before, but he knew if he didn’t, he might next hear Gaius was leaving to move to Ealdor instead. Deep down Arthur knew that would be far worse than the alternative.

“I’ll send an escort for her in a few days. I’m sorry; it won’t be possible before then. The knights have business that will keep them occupied. That should give you time to prepare for her arrival.”

“Thank you, sire.” Gaius reached a hand across the table to place on Arthur’s arm. He fought not to flinch. “It gets easier, Arthur, I promise. Take it from an old man. You’re doing well.”

Arthur huffed a laugh, though he tried to make it come out amused rather than annoyed. “You and Guinevere have been comparing notes.”

“We’re worried about you, as are many of your friends.”

“Worried about what?” Arthur snapped, tearing his arm away. “That I’ll turn out like my father? Start murdering everyone who looks at me crossways? Retreat into myself and waste away?”

His deepest, darkest fear surprised him as it flew out of his mouth unchecked. But there it was now, out in the open. Arthur had carried it with him since before he’d even known what love was. Now it was really happening, and the thought terrified him.

“Arthur,” Gaius’s tone was gentle, but firm.   “You are not your father. Uther’s grief consumed him. I strongly believe if he hadn’t had you after Ygraine died he would have been lost to us long ago. You are far stronger than he was.”

Arthur wasn’t so sure about that, but he could tell there was no point in arguing. He made to stand. He needed to retreat to his own chambers and be alone for a while. It was near time for dinner; he and Guinevere could sup together in far more peace than he had here.

“Actually, sire, would you mind staying with Gwaine for a moment? I need to go fetch more water from the well.”

“I could send a–”

“No, no, it’ll be good for me to go myself. Fresh air is healthy for the lungs.” Gaius levered himself up and picked up his bucket. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

He was gone before Arthur could protest again. The king glanced over where Gwaine lay on the bed. His eyes were closed, his mouth slack and pulsing out snores. To any normal observer the drunken knight was dead to the world. To Arthur, who had witnessed Gwaine sleeping on dozens of patrols and quests, the appearance couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Go on, then. Speak your piece. We both know you want to.”

Gwaine peeled open his eyes. From the glazed look in them it was obvious he wasn’t faking his level of intoxication at least. He mumbled something Arthur didn’t have a hope of deciphering.

“Right. Thank you for that fine insight. You probably won’t remember this in the morning, but you’re to report to my chambers in the morning to discuss your potential dismissal.”

Gwaine jerked his head in what Arthur eventually recognized as an enthusiastic nod. “Good. ‘Smy faul.’”

Arthur was _so_ not in the mood to absolve Gwaine of his guilt. Nor would he ever be. “Go to sleep, Sir Gwaine,” he replied through grit teeth.

But Gwaine just continued earnestly, “Shoulda fough’ har’er. ‘e shouldna… I shoulda gone w’im. Sorry. ‘m sorry.”

Arthur would apologize to Gaius later, but he had to get out of there. With Gwaine’s frantic apologies echoing in his ears, he fled the room, blinking back the tears that threatened his own eyes.

_It **is** your fault. You were supposed to protect him. _

He wasn’t sure sorry would ever be enough to change that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                          

Merlin wasn’t certain how long he remained in his haze after he left Gwaine. It was a comfortable place, the haze, where he didn’t have to think or feel or even _do_ much other than what his body chose automatically. While he was there he could pretend his entire world hadn’t just crashed and burned in a truly spectacular manner.

He managed to stay that way right up until the point he smacked into a tree, and the pain shooting up his arm brought him sharply back into reality.

“Oh. Right. Need to bandage that.”

He began to giggle to himself, still clutching his bleeding arm. The giggles turned to hysterical laughter, the laughter swiftly became tears, and the next thing he knew he was leaning back against the offending tree, sobbing to an uncaring sky.

He was alone, in the middle of nowhere. He was dizzy and nauseous and his throat ached. His arm had probably lost a dangerous amount of blood. His friends hated him. He could never return to Camelot, to Gaius, to _Arthur **.**_

He probably should call the dragon. Kilgharrah would want to berate him for failing his destiny so spectacularly. “You had one job, young warlock!” he mocked in a horrible imitation of the dragon’s voice.  Not that Kilgharrah would ever be so straight-forward with him.

He couldn’t go home. That broke Merlin’s heart in even tinier pieces, if it were even possible. Leon was going to tell Arthur he was dead, and then Arthur would have to tell his mother. Merlin _could_ at least go tell her it wasn’t true. But then like Kilgharrah, she would tell him how monumentally he’d screwed everything up. Only she’d do it all with a simple disappointed look. Maybe he’d settle down somewhere first, then send her a letter. One to Gaius, too, if the news of Merlin’s demise didn’t kill the old man from grief right away.

At least Arthur had Gwen. Merlin took comfort in that. He wasn’t sure he could go through with this if Arthur would have to suffer alone.

Maybe he should just stay here and let himself bleed out. As Kilgharrah and his mother mocked in his brain, he had failed. If he returned to Camelot, the knights would tell Arthur, and Arthur would kill him. What was his purpose if not to protect his beloved? What good was he anymore?

_“Merlin, you idiot! Get up and stop moping! You look like Cook’s cats when it’s raining.”_

Merlin giggled again, but this time it was less hysterical and more fond. Arthur would never stand for his self-pity. He could just see his king now, slapping him upside the head and maybe aiming a goblet for good measure.

_“You aren’t dead yet. If you don’t like something, stop acting like it’s the end of the world and do something about it.”_

The Arthur-voice was right. He had faced harder obstacles than this in his destiny before. Why, there was that one time –several times- when he had been a heartbeat away from _actually_ dying. Yet here he was, because he never gave up. And Arthur never gave up on him. Leon and the others might hate him, might think him a traitor, but no matter what they told Arthur, his king would always come looking for him. And when he found him, Merlin would tell him everything.

And then… then if Arthur hated him too, Merlin _would_ leave, but he would do so in the knowledge he could do no more.

Merlin scrambled determinedly to his feet. And then promptly blacked out.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, an update!
> 
> Sorry to have left this so long. I'm afraid I can't feel too guilty as in my absence I gained a new little bundle of joy! So this update is in honour of my daughter Annabelle, once and future queen of my heart.

Gwaine’s head pounded, and it wasn’t only the fault of his hangover. He’d just gotten a sound berating from the king, at a time far too early no matter what state he’d been in. But Gwaine couldn’t be angry at Arthur for the petulant move. He deserved it. He deserved far more even than just the sternly disappointed lecture on the duties of a knight and the dangers of imbibing too often.

Gwaine wished Arthur had yelled. He had been waiting for three months for Arthur to snap and chew them all out for what they’d done. But it hadn’t come. Instead Arthur hadn’t said anything. He’d spent a few days locked in his chambers, stood silently through the mock funeral, and ridden off into the woods. They’d been expecting something, anything, but Arthur refused to even look at his knights half the time, let alone speak.

So Gwaine had had to punish himself for his failure instead. Maybe drinking himself numb wasn’t the best choice, but it was the only one he could come up with at the moment.

He should have fought harder for Merlin. Should never have allowed Leon to leave him behind. Should have gone with him rather than abandon him alone in the woods.

It was all made even worse by the fact that Merlin apparently wasn’t going to yell at him either. The requested letter had finally arrived a week ago, delivered by a nervous-looking courier under strict orders not to reveal where his parcel had originated from. Gwaine had ripped open the scroll, eager for confirmation Merlin had reached Nemeth safely. Princess Mithian was an honorable woman. Even if Rodor was hesitant about taking in someone on the outs with Camelot, Mithian would make sure Merlin was taken care of.

_Under my bed is a carving of a dragon. Please give it to him?_

Gwaine turned over the parchment, sure there had to be more. If he didn’t know the handwriting so well, there was hardly any indication that Merlin had sent it. There wasn’t any “How dare you” or “I thought you were my friend.” There wasn’t even a simple “I’m safe.”

Gwaine would never say it out loud where the king might overhear, but the two of them were so perfectly matched for each other.

Disappointed as he was by Merlin’s letter –apparently his punishment was not to be punished –he was still going to do his best to follow the instructions within. It was the least he could do.

Gwen and Gaius were sat at the table lunch eating lunch together when he entered. “Arthur let you go in one piece?”

“He didn’t really get close enough to make a scratch, honestly,” Gwaine shrugged, walking past them and up into Merlin’s room.

No one had touched Merlin’s room in the last three months. Gwaine was fairly certain Gaius had spent a few lonely nights sitting on the bed, praying it was all a mistake and his ward would come bounding up the short staircase. Gwen would look mournfully at it sometimes and make half-aborted suggestions to empty it and send things to Merlin’s mother, but she hadn’t gone inside yet. Arthur just refused to acknowledge it at all.

The place was a mess, despite the fact - or maybe because- Merlin had essentially moved into the king’s chambers six months prior to his… departure. A few older articles of clothes were strewn about; a pile of books had been knocked over in the corner. Gwaine even spotted one of Arthur’s gauntlets peeking out from under Merlin’s pillow. Under the bed was an even worse state, stuffed with discarded items that must have been shoved there whenever Gaius groused about the state of the place. Gwaine poked aside an apple core and peered around for something that resembled a dragon. Maybe Merlin had been mistaken about where he’d hidden it?

“Did you need something, Sir Gwaine?”

Gwaine banged his head against the wood, he startled so badly. Rubbing the bump with a wince, he sat back onto his heels and looked guiltily up at Gaius. The physician leaned against the doorway, looking far older and more tired than he deserved. Gwaine loathed himself even further for the strain he had put upon Merlin’s mentor.

“I… There was something Merlin wanted me to– He mentioned once that there was– Sorry, Gaius.”

Gaius just sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Merlin told you he wanted you to give something to Arthur in the event of his death.”

Gwaine blinked. “Yes? How did you–?”

“You were not his only confidant in such a matter. Come with me.”

Gwaine followed the old man back into the main room. Gwen had taken her leave, perhaps sensing this was a private matter. Gaius went to one of his cupboards, the one that held some of his more lethal brews. Reaching behind the bottles, he opened what looked to be a small cubby, pulling something out and then closing the hole again.

He held out the item to Gwaine. “I moved it after he passed. Is this what you were looking for?”

It wasn’t, actually. Gaius was handing him a rolled piece of parchment, tied with a scrap of red ribbon. Unless Merlin had somehow spelled it to transform into a dragon, Gwaine didn’t see what relevance it had to his current search. He wasn’t about to let Gaius know that, though.

“If you knew about it all this time, why haven’t you given it to Arthur before now?” he asked instead.

The hand holding the parchment dropped, and Gaius lowered himself into a chair, as if the physical weight of the situation was too much for him to bear anymore. “Many years ago, back when Arthur was still just a prince, he was attacked by a magical beast. There was nothing that I and my many potions and salves could do for him. He was dying. Merlin, of course, refused to accept that. So he did the only thing he could think of and tracked down a sorceress who made a bargain with him. Arthur would live, but only if Merlin gave his life in Arthur’s place.”

Gwaine’s jaw dropped, and he found himself sinking into a seat of his own. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised by the depth of Merlin’s devotion –he had seen it for himself often enough –but it was one thing to be willing to throw yourself in front of the enemy’s knife in the heat of battle. It was quite another to calmly seek out death in place of another’s.

“But he didn’t die,” was all he could say.

“No,” Gaius agreed. “The sorceress was killed, and her death sufficed to keep Arthur alive. But Merlin didn’t know that would happen at the time. He tried to say goodbye to Arthur, but there wasn’t much Merlin could say without cluing him to what he was going to do. So he wrote a letter, telling Arthur everything he ever wanted him to know.”

Everything he wanted him to know. Including that Merlin had magic? “But you haven’t given it to him,” Gwaine repeated.

“Because that is not the only letter Merlin wrote over the years.” Gaius’s tired eyes had become sharper, and his brow furrowed. It was clear to Gwaine he was starting to close off, long honed instincts to protect Merlin kicking in full force. “Before he died Merlin left me with three versions for Arthur, each slightly different. I simply have not decided yet which one Arthur needs to receive.”

“So you won’t give him one at all?” If Gaius could become defensive, so could Gwaine. He was certain at least one of those letters told Arthur about Merlin’s magic, and maybe if he found out, Merlin could return. At this point he was sure Arthur would forgive Merlin anything just to have him back. “Doesn’t Arthur deserve to know what Merlin wanted to tell him?”

“How do you expect me to answer that when even Merlin could not?” Gaius snapped. “In one of those drafts Merlin chose to not reveal his secrets at all. Even he wondered if it might not be better to leave Arthur to remember him in peace. Some secrets were just never meant to be told.”

“Oh yes, because he looks awful peaceful now.” Gwaine rose from his chair, glaring at the physician. He wasn’t sure if Gaius was telling the truth about the contents of the letter, but the fact that Gaius had a _choice_ to tell Arthur and was refusing to make it irked him more than he could handle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my _friend_ asked me to do a thing, and I plan to actually do it. Could you please point me towards a carved dragon?”

Gaius softened slightly, but he made a point of replacing the letter in its hiding place before walking back towards Merlin’s room. With a small groan he knelt down on the hard floor, lifting a board and reaching under it to pull out the carving. It was a rough sculpture, certainly not something Merlin had bought at a merchant stall, but the well-worn surface told Gwaine it had been deeply loved. Just like its new recipient.

“Merlin’s father gave him this before he died.” Gaius cradled the little dragon to his chest. He looked up at Gwaine with pleading eyes. “You understand I only want to protect him, don’t you? I loved Merlin like my own son. He was all I had. Without him…The old aren’t meant to outlive their children.”

Gwaine wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand to be around Gaius without breaking and telling him everything. “Arthur won’t forgive you when he finds out you’ve been keeping this from him for so long.” _Just like he won’t forgive me._

“I’m an old man, Gwaine.” He tucked the carving into Gwaine’s hand. “It won’t be long before I go to join Merlin myself. I’m sure I can bear the scorn until then.”

With that Gwaine had to flee. In that moment he wasn’t sure who he hated most: himself, Gaius… or Merlin.

 

* * *

 

 

Leon paused outside throne room for just a beat longer than he normally would have in such an urgent situation like this. He needed a moment to collect himself, that was all. Being around Arthur for any reason was an exhausting endeavour. Between trying not to outwardly acknowledge the king’s depression and fending off the hateful glares of Gwaine and on occasion Percival and Elyan, Leon felt like he was a taut string about to snap. The question was simply what would be the trigger.

He didn’t have time to think on it right now though, as he steeled himself and pushed open the heavy doors. Arthur had already arrived and sat on his throne, eyes blank and mouth hard as he watched Leon and his guest approach. Gwen stood at his side, glancing nervously between her husband and his first knight.

Leon bowed low before him. “Sire, this is Lara. She comes bearing news.”

“Speak.”

Lara shrank slightly at the lack of warmth in the king’s voice, but then she raised her head and gazed at him with tears in her eyes. “Please, sire. My village was attacked by sorcerers. They stole our children, injured so many. Please, you have to save them.”

Leon nearly breathed a sigh of relief when Arthur visibly gentled. He stood and stepped down to place a hand on Lara’s shoulder. “I promise, I will do all that I can for you. Someone fetch her chair. She looks exhausted.” Arthur waited until she was settled with a goblet of water before prompting her to continue.

“We were gathered for the annual bonfire. We always celebrate the end of the harvest season with one; it’s the highlight of the year. We never thought…” She clenched the goblet tighter, as if it could anchor her. “They came out of nowhere. There were so many, we didn’t have a hope of defending ourselves. We tried, we really did, and Tom, he–” Lara cut herself off with a sob. “They separated us from the children and threw them into cages. They took a few adults –to keep the little ones quiet they said –but anyone who tried to stop them was blasted away like leaves in the wind.”

Leon couldn’t believe anyone could be so evil as to hurt a child, let alone an entire village of them. He knew Arthur had intended to send him north to tend to troubles there, but he had a feeling another knight was about to find themselves taking his place. Arthur might have wanted to send anyone associated with Merlin as far away as possible, but even he would see this was far more important.

“We’re going to find your children, Lara,” Arthur promised softly. “I need you to tell me all the details you can about the attack. How many sorcerers you saw, how many children they took, what direction they came from, everything.”

Leon worried the poor woman would be far too distressed to give so much information, but she steeled her shoulders and nodded, ready to do whatever she had to save her village. “They came from the west, I think. The menfolk tried to follow them afterwards, but they lost the trail after only a few minutes. I think they must have been using magic to conceal their tracks.”

“I think you’re right to hide a path made with so many in tow.”

Lara tucked her head to stare at her hands. “We’re a small community, sire. We only had a scarce dozen children to our names. I know that doesn’t sound like much, not in so large a place as Camelot, but they were all we had, and we loved them all the more for their rarity.”

Arthur covered tilted her chin back up. “I would never think to discount your loss as being paltry. I know all too well how much a single person can mean.”

“Thank you, sire,” she smiled weakly. “Along with the little ones, they took Mara and Cecily and… and Tom.”

“You mentioned Tom before. Were you close?”

“He- I- we lived together, sire,” she murmured. “He did everything he could to protect the children, and they took him for it.”

“And I’m sure he’s doing everything he can to protect them even now.”

Lara didn’t look reassured. If anything her sorrow increased. “Not even he could stop that _horrible_ man. There were five people who attacked us, but it was clear who they followed. I’ve never seen magic so powerful before, not even… He wore a hood, but I got a good look at him when it was knocked over in the fighting. He was tall, perhaps taller even than yourself, sire, and his skin looked as though he’d never seen the sun. He had hair as dark as night and eyes blue as the sky after a storm. Except when they were glowing gold, of course.” She shuddered and viciously scrubbed the tears from her eyes. “So long as I live I’ll never forget the face of that monster.”

Leon felt his blood growing colder and colder as he listened to the woman’s description. Tall and pale, with dark hair and blue eyes… It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t.

If Arthur was shaken by the image, he didn’t show it. “Did he happen to mention anything about why they wanted your children?”

“He said- he said they were taking them to the lady Morgana. That she would take excellent care of them in our stead.” With that Lara seemed unable to say anymore, too overcome with grief for her people.

Arthur allowed Gwen to take the poor woman away before he turned to Leon. The knight was ready for the command even before it came. “Gather the knights and tell them to prepare for battle. We ride out in two hours.”

Leon nodded jerkily and tried not to look like he was fleeing the hall. He grabbed Percival and Elyan as he passed them in the corridors, yanking them in the direction of Gwaine’s chambers. “We need to talk. _Now._ ”

Gwaine wasn’t in his room, nor was he in the armoury or on the training fields. Leon was ready to start yelling in frustration when Percival pointed out there was one place they hadn’t yet looked. And that was where they found him, nursing a mug alone on the edge of Merlin’s bed.

He didn’t even bother to look up when the other knights entered. “We need to tell Gaius. We never even thought about- We killed his _son._ ”

“We didn’t kill anyone,” Leon snapped, closing the door to Merlin’s room tightly behind them. “Merlin brought this on himself, on everyone. He should have thought about how much he’d hurt Gaius before he got involved in… _that._ ”

“Gaius probably knows anyway,” Gwaine continued as if he hadn’t heard a word Leon said. “Not about us killing him, but the magic. Someone had to. You know Merlin,” he hiccoughed a laugh. “He never could keep a secret.”

“If Gaius knows anything, he’ll know to keep his mouth shut about it. Especially now.”

Elyan shoved aside a pair of dirty socks on the nightstand and sat down, arms crossed. “You’ve been testy ever since that meeting with Arthur. What’s going on?”

“A village in the south has been attacked. By sorcerers.”

Elyan raised an eyebrow, looking far less concerned than Leon thought the situation warranted. “And we’re here gossiping instead of preparing to ride out and slaughter them because…?”

“Because the woman was able to give the description of the leader of the men who attacked them. A description that matches a certain former servant who just happens to have magic.”

Gwaine’s mug clattered to the ground, the dregs of his mead splashing across the floorboards. “You can’t think- Merlin would _never_ –”

“Well it seems that Merlin would!” Leon rubbed a hand over his face. “We can’t let the king find out. When we find these sorcerers, we have to get rid of him before anyone sees him.”

“‘Get _rid_ of him’? _Getting_ _rid_ _of him_ was what got us in this mess in the first place!” Gwaine charged to his feet. “I knew we shouldn’t have sent him away.”

“Sent him away?”

The knights collectively jumped as the door swung open to reveal a shell-shocked Gaius. The old man was pale as a ghost, swaying slightly on the spot. Leon half feared he might fall over. Percival apparently shared that fear, taking him by the arm and settling him on Merlin’s bed.

“My boy, he’s… Merlin’s _alive_?”

“Yes, Gaius,” whispered Gwaine. “So far as we know.”

“Alive. My Merlin’s alive.” Gaius trembled from relief, so much so that Percival laid a hand on his shoulder to keep him from falling off the bed. Gaius flinched away, the pain in his eyes piercing them like knives. “Why did you do this? Merlin was your friend.”

“He’s a sorcerer, Gaius,” Elyan explained softly. “He uses magic.”

Gaius looked completely unimpressed by this reasoning, confirming for Leon Gwaine’s guess that he already knew. “Merlin never would have hurt anyone, not unless they were threatening someone he loves. You _know_ that. So why would you banish him?”

“He- what do you mean ‘ _why_ ’?” Leon sputtered. “He _broke the law_. Magic is illegal, you of all people should know that. He gave us no choice.”

“A wise woman once told me: ‘you always have a choice. Sometimes it’s easier to pretend you don’t.’”

“Merlin had a choice as well. We gave him a second chance, and he used it to join Morgana.”

“I’m telling you, he can’t have!” Gwaine insisted, though even he looked uneasy. “He sent me a letter not long ago. I think he would have said something if he were planning on joining the enemy.”

Leon wanted to explode again at the revelation Gwaine had stayed in contact with the sorcerer, but he held himself in check. They were running out of time to come up with a plan before the king would expect them to be ready to go. “What _did_ he say in this letter?”

“Well…” Gwaine let out a heavy sigh and hung his head in defeat. “Pretty much nothing, actually. Just asked me to give something to Arthur, and that was it.”

“Something he could have cursed on Morgana’s orders.” Leon nodded definitively. “Have you given it him yet?”

Gwaine shook his head. “Haven’t seen him yet.”

“Good. We’ll have to find a way to dispose of it before it can harm any–”

“Now hold on just a minute!” Gaius interrupted, finally over his shock enough to stand. “If Merlin is working for Morgana as you think he is, it can’t be by his choice. More likely he was captured after you _abandoned_ him and then was forced to do her bidding. Even Merlin is not immune to enchantments.”

Elyan stepped in. “How about instead of making assumptions we go find him and see for ourselves?”

“An excellent suggestion.” Leon squared his shoulders. The truth would out, and they would all see he’d done what he had to to protect the crown. “The king has ordered us to leave by midday. Whatever happens to Merlin once we find him… well, on his own head be it.”

They trooped out of Gaius’s chambers, leaving the physician to his revelations. At the bottom of the tower stairs, a small hand grabbed Leon’s arm and tugged him into an alcove. Leon was about to unleash his combat training when he saw who his ‘attacker’ was. “Gw- I mean, my lady!”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” Gwen shook her head distractedly, glancing around as if to make sure they were alone. “I need to talk you. It’s about Arthur.”

Leon cupped her face with a hand, knowing he was probably overstepping and too tired to care right now. He hadn’t had the chance to speak to Gwen alone in ages. “I’ll protect him, my lady, you know that.”

“I know you will, of course you will, it’s just…” She wrung her hands together. “You’re going south, exactly the place where… You’ve seen him, he’s not been the same since…” Gwen met his eyes with her own tear-filled ones. “I’ve accepted that we’ve lost him, Leon, but I can’t bear to see him lose himself.”

Leon had known when he made the decision to banish Merlin that there would be more casualties than just Arthur. He had had to watch while Gaius aged twenty years overnight, Gwaine drank himself near to death, and Gwen ran herself ragged trying to hold everything together while her own heart was shattering. It was all made worse by the fact he couldn’t do a thing to comfort them. There were times he wondered if it all might have been better if he’d simply brought Merlin back to be exposed and executed.

Maybe then they wouldn’t be in this mess. “I’ll take care of him, Gwen,” he vowed. “And don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll come back to us soon. Just look at all he’s left behind.”

Gwen gave him a kiss on the cheek, then pulled back, blushing at her impulsiveness. “Maybe this trip will be good for him. Hitting things with his sword always did clear his head.”

“With the state of his head, those sorcerers won’t stand a chance.”

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a kmm prompt I can no longer find to link that asked "What if the knights found out about Merlin instead of Arthur?"


End file.
